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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982204">Someday We'll Linger in the Sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyghost/pseuds/moodyghost'>moodyghost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, High School Teachers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Spoilers, Swearing, Teacher Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Teacher Reader, Tragic Romance, angst angst angsty angst, because they're in a new world, fem reader - Freeform, i'm listening to phoebe bridgers to write this one, levi went to therapy, lowkey enemies to lovers? a little bit if you squint, maybe some ooc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:29:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyghost/pseuds/moodyghost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches Levi for a little too long, and when he turns back to me there’s something small and knowing in his eyes. And my stomach flips, wondering how in the hell he figured this one out, because I’ve been so good about pushing it down and away to the depths of my heart. </p><p>But then he’s sweeping me up into his arms, and dipping me backward into a dramatic kiss, and maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe this has nothing to do with me at all. </p><p>**</p><p>The Universe does give second chances; it just doesn't make them easy.</p><p>By the time Levi realized that he was in love with you, it was too late. His last thoughts were of regret, and the Universe responded by picking up Paradis and placing it smack dab in another world, another time. All of his friends, his comrades, alive and well in another universe. </p><p>When difficult family news forces you to uproot your entire life, moving in with your boyfriend in a whole new city seems like the best course of action. Especially since it means that you'll be able to start fresh, with a new job, new friends. But there are more than a few people in Paradis who seem strangely familiar...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Levi Ackerman/Reader, Zeke Yeager/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. This is Paradise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>WELCOME.</p><p>Now, you might be asking yourself: REALLY, moody? Another mf Levi x reader fic? Yes. Yes another one. Because I love reincarnation AUs and teacher AUs and Levi, and I have a love-hate relationship w Zeke Yeager 😐😑</p><p>This one.... this one is a doozy. I'm aiming to update at least twice a month, while still working on my other fics!!!!!! but i just literally cannot get this out of my head, sooooo</p><p>fair warning, there are a few character death spoilers, as well as canon-typical violence. There could be more in the future, but I'll let u know as it comes up,, SOoooooOOOOo yes be aware 😳</p><p>this one is a little short, because it's more of an intro chapter than anything else. The next few chapters are much longer!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Come back to Paradis with me,” Zeke says, and for a moment I think that I’ve misheard. But he repeats himself, and this time turns to face me more fully in his seat, eyes bright and earnest.</p><p>We sit casually together in the close proximity of his partitioned car, legs just so touching, hands a breath apart. I’ve often wondered how I ever managed to have someone like him fall in love with me. He’s a good man. I search his eyes. A <em>kind </em>man.</p><p>“Why?” I ask, because I can’t think of anything else to say. Of course I want to go to Paradis with him. But there is so much that comes with this decision; there is so much weight in the words <em>yeah, I’ll go.</em> He runs a hand over his arm, and he seems nervous, and I watch as the static of his beige sweater clings to and follows his the skin of his palm, like the wake of a boat.</p><p>“My mother is… not doing well,” he says finally, looking out the window, the blur of traffic lights and passing cars bouncing off the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. “My father called the other night to tell me that the doctors are giving her a few months, at most.”</p><p>I chew at the inside of my cheek. This feels like the continuation of a conversation that we’ve been having for a while, where he asks me to move in with him and I tell him that I can’t.</p><p><em>“We’ve been dating for two years now,” </em>he’d say. <em>“I just don’t understand what the problem is.”</em></p><p>I understand his frustrations. I do. Because we aren’t teenagers or college students anymore, and neither one of us is interested in short-term non-committals. It’s not like I don’t <em>want </em>to live with him. It’s just that I’m afraid. Of what, I don’t know. All I know is that every time he brings it up, my insides twist. And now I feel guilt at the reaction, because his mother is dying and I’m acting like the worst girlfriend in the world. I swallow.</p><p>“So you want me to move with you to Paradis?”</p><p>Of course he does. It’s a stupid question, but I ask it anyways.</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>His hand closes the gap and hovers over mine for a moment, before settling down. His skin is warm and his hand is familiar.</p><p>“I don’t want to leave you here,” he says softly, and the words squeeze at my heart.</p><p>“Then don’t,” I say. “Your mother can come here, move in with you…”</p><p>But even as I say it, I know that that isn’t going to happen. There’s no way that moving a woman with a terminal illness is a good idea. Sure enough, Zeke frowns. And then his eyes turn sad, and he opens his mouth to say something, takes a soft breath instead. His gaze meets mine, piercing eyes searching, searching, for something that I don’t think is there.</p><p>“Or you could commute,” I offer half-heartedly.</p><p>“It’s a three hour flight,” he deadpans.</p><p>“What about my job?”</p><p>“It’s May. The semester is almost over.”</p><p>“So I’m just supposed to quit, and what? Move to Paradis and not work?”</p><p>“You know that you’ve never really had to work, love.”</p><p>This is the next frustration that I have. Zeke is a trust-fund. He’s the product of a marriage turned sour, and his father has always felt immense guilt. Dropping hundreds of thousands of dollars into his eldest son’s bank account is the closest Grisha Yeager has come to involving himself in Zeke’s life. He’s never understood my love for working, my unwillingness to live off of his dollar. I don’t know how to tell him that I don’t want to be dependent on him.</p><p>He sighs, as though he can read my mind. Sometimes I really think he can.</p><p>“Look, my brother is in high school right now, yeah? And the school is looking for a new senior year English teacher. So I casually mentioned it to my dad, because his new wife is on the school board, and he said he could pull a few strings, especially with your resume…”</p><p>“What about my cat?” It’s a weak argument.</p><p>“It’s not like I’m allergic to cats. He can move in with us.”</p><p>“But you hate him.”</p><p>He frowns at this. “I don’t <em>hate </em>him. Cats just never like me all that much, and he’s no real exception.”</p><p>I chew at my thumb nail. It feels as though he’s thought of everything.</p><p>“Look, if you really don’t want to go, that’s fine. I’ll go, and we’ll figure something out, yeah? Long-distance or whatever, we can make it work. I just feel awful leaving my mother alone, quite literally on her deathbed, with the only family around being her cheating ex-husband and his new little family.”</p><p>He spits the last few words out, eyes blazing, looking away from me. I know Zeke and his father have a rocky relationship, and I really do understand where he’s coming from.</p><p>He sighs, and leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. “Come back to Paradis with me,” he whispers again, lips ghosting against mine.</p><p>“Okay,” I breathe into the kiss he presses softly against my mouth. Because I don’t know what else to say.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s early-June by the time the movers have nearly cleared out my tiny, one-bedroom apartment. Life feels frantic, planning for final essays and exams, fielding questions from my parents and colleagues and sister about the move.</p><p>My mother was the worst of them all; she had cried when I called her to tell her that I was moving.</p><p>
  <em>“What about the holidays? Oh, sweetheart, you’re going to be so far away—”</em>
</p><p>We’d be home for the holidays, I assured her. Zeke wasn’t too excited by the thought of spending them with his father’s new family, and, as morbid as it sounded, Dina would most likely have passed away by then.</p><p>And then there’s Zeke, who is, understandably, stressed. He’s been sending me countless house listings, and we’ve had more than a few petty arguments about stupid things like kitchen space and landscaping and layouts. By the time he had sent me the most recent place, I was too run down by everything else to make any real complaints. And it really was a nice place. We’d put in an offer and had it accepted in less than 24 hours.</p><p>Life feels as though it has been on fast-forward ever since our conversation in May, and, before I know it, it’s the end of June, and I’m wishing my students luck in college, and my coworkers are giving me their tearful goodbyes. I cry when I lock up my now-empty apartment for the last time, and Zeke wraps a reassuring arm around my shoulders, carrying a disgruntled Fyodor in a cat-carrier with his free-hand.</p><p>And before I know it, I am on a plane, and leaving my hometown behind. For some reason, it feels like I’m leaving forever.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Grow as We Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm writing this at 3 am i have to be up in four hours oh shit oh fuck--<br/>I forgot to mention this in chapter one but there will be spoilers for seasons 1-4, I won't put any manga spoilers in for the sanity of those who do not read the manga 👁👁</p><p>This chapter was REALLY hard to write because... tbh... Zeke really scares me LOL<br/>COMMENTS MAKE MY DAY and if u leave one i will love you forever. </p><p>ANYWHO hope y'all enjoy this one see you soooooon~</p><p>love n shit,<br/>moody</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Have you ever thought about the life we’ll get once we eradicate the titans, Captain?”</p><p>“Tch. That’s a stupid question. I don’t waste my time thinking about things like that.”</p><p>Levi has his back turned to her, face hidden where she can’t see the small movements of his features, cannot see the dead giveaways that tell her what he is feeling. People often think that Levi is an emotionless bastard, but she knows better. Levi is easily the most emotionally volatile person she knows; he has just become better than most at hiding those emotions. A bastard, sure. But never emotionless.</p><p>“Well I have.”</p><p>“Can you shut up? I’m trying to get shit done, brat.”</p><p>She smiles. “I’ll get to do my laundry, and hang it up outside.”</p><p>“You can do that already.”</p><p>She ignores him. “And I’ll have animals. Pets. Like a cat maybe. Maybe a dog, if I can ever find one.”</p><p>“Stupid.”</p><p>“And I’ll have my own house, and you’ll be able to see the ocean from the back window, and the tree-line of a forest from the front…”</p><p>“I doubt you’ll be able to find a place like that.”</p><p>“And my neighbour will be this really grumpy old man…”</p><p>He whips his head around to glare at her at this, and she clamps her mouth shut, but it is more to stop a laugh than because she fears his wrath.</p><p>“Get the fuck out of my office.”</p><p>“Everything would smell like freshly laundered linen, and baking!”</p><p>He shoves her out the door brusquely, narrows his eyes, and slams it shut between them. She releases the laugh now, raps on the wood twice with her knuckles.</p><p>“See you, Captain!”</p><p>On her way back to the barracks, she tries to ignore the way her heart twists in on itself, sending butterflies down into her stomach.</p>
<hr/><p>The house is nice. It’s really, really nice.</p><p>It’s grey stone on the outside, and the back has a glass tower with a domed roof, stretching up into the sky. Inside is spacious, modern, bright. Everything feels clean. There’s a spiral staircase in the tower. We had decided that we were going to turn the room at the top, with its big domed roof, into the master bedroom. Zeke tells me excitedly that it has heated floors. There’s a pool in the yard, which is two acres.</p><p> I tell him all of this, that I like the house and the floors and the pool; I just leave out the part of me that doesn’t feel at home. At all. I’ll chalk it up to abruptly moving.</p><p>The first few weeks are a blur of setting things up in the way we want them and bringing the last of Zeke’s things out of storage. He’s happy, I can tell. I know that it’s twofold, because I know Zeke. He’s happy because the house is wonderful, and he’s back where his family lives, and he’s happy because he’s finally gotten his way. There is nothing he likes more than getting his way, like a petulant child, which at times can be endearing. At times.</p><p>Fyodor is not a fan of the house just yet. For the most part he hides away in our room, in the closet or under the big duvet on the bed. Maybe because he’s not used to it yet, or maybe because he can sense my own apprehension.</p><p>“You feeling alright?” Zeke asks one morning, because I’ve been zoning out, staring into my coffee.</p><p>“Hm? Oh, yes darling.” I give him a small smile. “Just tired. And kind of stressed.”</p><p>He nods sympathetically, coming around to press a kiss to the top of my head, hand wrapped around his own steaming mug. “Things will relax by the weekend, love.” He smiles. “And then we have the rest of our lives to figure it all out.”</p><p>“Yeah,” I say. I try a smile, but it’s only Tuesday, and after the weekend it will be a different kind of busy. All at once I miss our old life, the one that was calm and easy and <em> familiar. </em>I miss my friends, my job, my family.  Zeke seems to realize this, because he comes around again, placing his mug on the counter.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, taking my face into both of his hands, bending down so that we are eye to eye. “I know this isn’t ideal right now. But I promise it’ll be good.”</p><p>I chew on my thumb nail. “I just… I’m just worried, you know? Like, about all the moving, and the new job—”</p><p>“I told you not to worry about that.”</p><p>“I know, <em> I know </em> I don’t really have to worry, because there’s nothing <em> to </em>worry about. But I just… can’t help thinking… what if I can’t do it? What if I’m like secretly a horrible teacher, and they fire me after the first week? Or what if the kids here are used to a different kind of teaching, and they hate me? Or what if the faculty—”</p><p>“I’m gonna stop you there,” he says, and knocks my forehead softly with his own. “You’re just anxious, and that’s normal. But you’re seriously overthinking this.”</p><p>I give him a wobbly smile. “I know. I’m spiraling.”</p><p>He leans back a moment and nods, mock solemnity written across his face. “Real bad.”</p><p>“But like, why is Fyodor being so weird? <em> That’s </em>really stressing me out.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes. “He’s a cat. Can’t expect much beyond him being <em> weird. </em>”</p><p>“But like… this is <em> weird </em> weird <em> .” </em></p><p>He says my name softly. “You need to stop thinking.”</p><p>“I wish I could, Zeke, I really do.”</p><p>Zeke waggles his eyebrows, implications clear in his eyes. He reaches out to run a strand of hair through his fingers. “I know a few things that could help with that,” he says.</p><p>“Shut up, weirdo.”</p><p>But I pull him in anyways, for a hug, and he obliges without question. He is warm, and he smells like cedarwood and pine from his soap, and the wool of his sweater rubs familiarly against my skin.</p><p>I close my eyes, breathe in the familiarity of this, of <em> him, </em> trying to put away the bad thoughts and replace them with these. I sigh. “I love you,” I say finally.</p><p>He kisses me then, slowly, the kind of kiss that comes from knowing that we have all the time in the world. When he pulls away he smiles, and I know that the wanting in his eyes is reflected in my own.</p><p>He takes a sip of his coffee, gaze smiling impishly over the rim. He sets the coffee down. Runs a hand down my side, rests it on my hip. A shiver runs through me. His eyes are sparkling suggestively, and all of my previous misgivings melt away, if only for a moment. He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose.</p><p>“I love you too.”</p>
<hr/><p>Levi Ackerman hates pointless deaths.</p><p>She has always known this. He has said it countless times. Erwin has muttered it under his breath, Hange has said it in exasperation.</p><p>
  <em> Levi Ackerman hates pointless deaths. </em>
</p><p>But this… this she cannot rectify, in her mind. It does not seem right. It cannot be real.</p><p>The infirmary bed is not comfortable. It is hard and stiff, more so than her bed in the barracks, which says something. The beds in the barracks are not comfortable, either.</p><p>She has been awake for some time now, has seen people come in and out. There is no one but her in the room, now. Everyone who has come in and out has been a nurse or a doctor. None of her friends have come by, yet.</p><p>The military police had come by earlier, but she had pretended to be asleep. She hadn’t wanted to talk to them. Didn’t have anything to say.</p><p>Her time had been spent trying to piece together what had transpired, but even with the hours she had been able to glean little more from her mind beyond…She felt sick. <em> Not this. Anything but this. </em></p><p>She leans back against the pillows, closing her eyes against the nausea which creeps it’s way up her throat.</p><p>
  <em> But there have to be more, right? They just aren’t here. They didn’t get hurt enough to come here. But there are more of us alive. There has to be. </em>
</p><p>Her heart feels a million times too big for her chest.</p><p>When the door swings open she doesn't even have to look to know who it is. Her heart does a spin. She doesn’t even know if she can look at him right now.</p><p>He speaks low to a nurse, but she cannot make out their words. She listens as his steps near, stopping at the side of her bed. He says nothing, but he must know that she’s awake. He always knows, somehow.</p><p>“Why?” she asks finally, when the silence becomes unbearable. Her voice sounds horrendous, even to her own ears.</p><p>“<em> Why?” </em>she asks again when he does not answer, and this time her voice breaks on the word, and a tear slips past her closed eyelid.</p><p>“It was the rational thing to do,” he says. “Saving you was the rational thing to do.”</p><p>It sounds as though he’s trying to convince himself just as much as he is trying to convince her.</p><p>A sob wracks her chest, because that means that…</p><p>“Erwin? <em> Armin?” </em></p><p>He says nothing, and the silence between them is hollow and loaded at once.</p>
<hr/><p>“Do we know what happened to my white shirt?” Zeke calls from the closet, voice muffled by what I presume to be clothes. I’m standing at the vanity mirror, trying to put a diamond stud into my left ear. I frown.</p><p>“Which one?”</p><p>“The… the white one! With the collar and the buttons.”</p><p>I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “You have at least four shirts that fit that exact description, hon.”</p><p>He makes an irritated noise. I can imagine his hands going up in the air. I smile to myself in the mirror.</p><p>“I know,” he says. “But the one… the one you got me for Christmas last year?”</p><p>“You mean the one with the maroon collar.”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>“That’s not <em> white. </em> It’s <em> white with a maroon collar.” </em></p><p>He makes a sound of exasperation, and in the reflection of the glass I see his head poke out from the closet. He’s frowning, face rife with mock-hurt, and it’s adorable. He doesn’t have his glasses on, either. He probably can’t see a damn thing.</p><p>“Please help me look?” he says, and he’s making his sad eyes at me, his bottom lip jutting out slightly.</p><p>“Fine. But if I find it in less than a minute you owe me laundry for a <em> month. </em>”</p><p>On my way past I swipe his forgotten glasses from the dresser, tucking them into the back pocket of my pants. He can complain about the smudges after I find his shirt.</p><p>Zeke stands helplessly in the middle of what can only be described as a hurricane of clothing. He’s wearing a navy button up, hanging open revealing his toned stomach beneath. His eyes soften when they land on me.</p><p>“You look really hot,” he says, and I laugh.</p><p>“<em> Hot </em>isn’t exactly what I was going for, but thank you.”</p><p>He grins mischievously. “And yet…”</p><p>I open my mouth to remind him that I’m here to look for his shirt, which I have spotted hanging up on the rack just behind his shoulder, when he closes the space between us, kissing me soft and quick.</p><p>“I found your shirt,” I murmur, running a hand through his hair.</p><p>“Fuck my shirt,” he says, thumb trailing idly over my mouth.</p><p>I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure you need to be wearing a shirt. And,” I say, reaching into my back pocket, brandishing his glasses. “It would probably help if you could see, huh?”</p><p>His smile widens, snatching the glasses from my hand. “I was wondering why everything looked blurry as hell.”</p><p>I pull his shirt closed between us. “I think you should just wear this one,” I say, and he kisses my shoulder.</p><p>“Should I?”</p><p>“Yes. And also hurry up. I’m ready and you’re…”</p><p>He kisses me again, his hand moving up and under my shirt, and that brings me back down to earth. “Your family is going to be here any second,” I remind him.</p><p>His brows furrow. “Not my family.”</p><p>"Be nice," I say. He gives me a look. I sigh, wrapping my arms around him, head resting in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. “Everybody has a family, Zeke. Even if they don’t get along. Besides,” I say, running a hand down his arm. “Family isn’t always blood.”</p><p>“You’re my family. And you’re the only family I need,” he mumbles into my skin.</p><p>I close my eyes, letting myself sit in this moment, kissing him, standing in the closet of our bedroom. <em> Our room. In our house. </em>Like he’d said the other day, things have begun to settle. Things are starting to feel normal. This place is starting to feel like home.</p><p>But then there is a flash, a feeling so intense and pure that it steals my breath away for a moment. It’s a feeling of profound and unadulterated <em> wrongness. </em> That being here, with Zeke, is <em> not right. </em>It’s the kind of feeling that curls in my gut like a beast waiting to explode, tearing me apart from the inside.</p><p>But then I think of him, of his argyle and wool sweaters, of him singing <em> Time of the Season </em> out loud and wailing in the kitchen, pointing his wooden spoon my way at the line ‘ <em> who’s your daddy?’ </em>. I think of all of these things, because, like he said, Zeke is my family. He’s the only family I need.</p><p>Isn’t that right?</p>
<hr/><p><em> No. That can’t be right. </em>Because she is useless compared to the commander. She is not nearly as smart as Armin. There is no rational explanation for it. None at all. She cannot fathom a reason, even in the depths of her mind, as to why he would do something so incredibly stupid as this.</p><p>“How many of us survived?”</p><p>“Counting you and I… there are ten of us left,” he says, his voice quiet, as though he is taking the moment to grieve, as though this is the only solace he will allow himself.</p><p>“And I’m…” She cannot even form the words. She is afraid of the implications. She is afraid of the finality of speaking the truth.</p><p>“Fuck you,” she says. “You should have let me die.”</p><p>She doesn’t really mean the words, but she wants to. She wants to be selfless enough that she is not glad to be alive. She wants to have died in order to save humanity. She had made peace in her mind with the notion of death. Now, she thinks, when death truly comes, she will only be that much more afraid.</p><p>She hears the clicking of his jaw as he clenches his teeth. Can imagine the steel and gunmetal glaring angrily down at her.</p><p>“Enough,” he says, his voice hard. “I’m still your commanding officer.”</p><p>And there is nothing else she can say, nothing that will be respectful or kind, and so she says nothing at all.</p>
<hr/><p>“I believe,” says Dr Jaeger between bites of fettuccine. “That congratulations are in order, young lady.”</p><p>I smile at Zeke’s father over the rim of my wine glass, feeling a nervous flutter in my stomach. The beginning of the evening went fine, or as fine as an evening with your boyfriend’s estranged father and his new family could go.</p><p>I had just had enough time to make up hors-d’oeuvres and a charcuterie board before they’d come around, and Zeke had finished his vegetable soup and pasta earlier in the day. Grisha, Carla, Eren, and a brooding Mikasa had arrived with two bottles of ridiculously expensive wine and an orchid plant that I knew would be dead within the week.</p><p>I wasn’t sure what I had expected of his family, but this wasn’t really it. Carla was sweet, and nothing like the description Zeke had given of her. She was soft spoken and demure, with large, kind brown eyes. Grisha himself was incredibly pleasant, and, if the way he spoke was anything to go off of, incredibly intelligent.</p><p>Eren was quiet, some sort of melancholia hanging about him. Much more than any seventeen-year-old should have, and Mikasa… Her dark hair was cut jagged, her eyes smudged with black eyeliner and purple shadow, her lipstick perfect and black. I would have to ask her to teach me sometime.</p><p>They were, in all, a completely normal seeming family.</p><p>Small talk was painful, but then again it always was. We talked about parents, about moving, about friends and travelling and wine. Things that made no big difference, in the grand scheme of things. And those conversations, it seemed, had carried over into dinner.</p><p>“I believe that I have you to thank for that, Grisha, Carla,” I say, tipping my wine glass slightly in their direction.</p><p>Grisha waves me off, chuckling gently. “It was a small thing, really. It was mostly your resume that caught their attention.”</p><p>Carla nods, swallowing a mouthful of salad. “I barely had to lift a finger,” she says, smiling.</p><p>I duck my head sheepishly, drowning a tight smile in wine. Not for the first time tonight, there is a brief moment of uncomfortable silence. I turn to Eren and Mikasa, who haven’t said much, twirling my fork idly through my shallow pasta bowl.</p><p>“I guess this means you’ll both have me to deal with this year,” I say, half-joking.</p><p>Mikasa offers me a small laugh, which I consider a win. Eren, however, says nothing, staring blankly down into his plate. <em> Well then. </em></p><p>I shoot Zeke a questioning glance, and he shrugs.</p><p>It’s not as though I don’t know how seventeen-year-olds can be. It’s just that, even for a seventeen-year-old, Eren seems incredibly standoffish. The way he looks at me, when he does, feels heavy, and there is some unknown emotion that brews behind his eyes, potent and pointed. Almost as though he knows me. Knows me, and hates me.</p><p>But of course that isn’t right.</p><p>Something steels itself within me, some determination to win this kid over, to make him like me. I want Zeke’s family to <em> like me. </em></p><p>So I try again. “So, Eren, Zeke tells me you play football? And recently took up jiu jitsu. That’s super cool.”</p><p>“Yep,” he says drily. He doesn’t even look up from his plate.</p><p><em> Christ. </em>This kid is going to be a tough one. But I’m nowhere near done yet.</p><p>“Are you on the school’s team? I hear they’re pretty good.”</p><p>This time, he gives me nothing more than a nod.</p><p>“What position do you play—”</p><p>“God!” he shouts suddenly, slamming his fork down against the table. “Why the fuck do you care so much?”</p><p>I flinch slightly, and everything in the room goes deathly quiet.</p><p>“Eren,” Carla says warningly.</p><p>“What?” he says angrily, eyes blazing. “What?”</p><p>He pushes himself up from the table brusquely, rattling the plates and cutlery and glasses. He turns to me then, and I feel the full weight of his eyes, of that unrecognizable emotion. It sends a shiver down my spine. It feels almost <em> familiar. </em>But then…</p><p>“Just because you’re getting my brother’s dick wet doesn’t mean that I have to like you.”</p><p>“Eren!” Carla shouts, horrified. “That’s enough.”</p><p>He makes a noise of frustration and anger, throwing his cloth napkin onto his vacated chair.</p><p>“Fucking hell,” he mutters, and gives me one final, piercing glare before stalking out of the room. Grisha makes to go after him, but Zeke holds up a hand.</p><p>“I’ll go,” he says, pushing his chair away from the table, folding his napkin carefully.</p><p>Before he leaves he turns to me, question plainly written across his features. I nod once, flustered. I take a long drink of wine. <em> That was a lot. </em></p><p>When both Jaeger boys have gone, Carla turns to me, horror and apology in her eyes.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” she says, and her words are genuine.</p><p>I’ve decided that I like Carla. A lot.</p><p>I give her a tight smile. “It’s fine,” I say. “I’m used to dealing with teenage boys.”</p><p>But even as conversation resumes, as we eat and talk and watch Zeke and Eren throwing a baseball back and forth through the window, for the second time today I am overwhelmed with a feeling of <em> wrongness, </em>as though I am in the wrong place. As though every part of me is screaming at me to run, run away from here, run toward someone or something that I cannot remember.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. When I See You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Allo luvs xx</p><p>hope you've had a wonderful day so far!</p><p>Honestly don't know how i feel about this chapter, but now that everything is like set up it'll be fun, i think.</p><p>Thank you as always for reading, leave a comment to let me know how you're liking it so far (they really make my day), and I will see you all soon!</p><p>love n shit,<br/>-moody</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Today’s date is circled three times in red on the calendar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready?” asks Zeke around a cup of coffee, voice amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re sitting at the kitchen island, and he is watching me freak out internally, eyes glimmering with something that is suspiciously close to glee, and nothing like the sympathy I would hope to find. It’s Monday. It’s August. And I’m setting up my classroom for the beginning of the school year today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I mutter, stirring my own coffee absentmindedly with a spoon. “I’m not ready for the school year to actually start, either, so there’s that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The few weeks after his family’s initial visit had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Zeke’s abrupt change in heart in regards to Grisha’s new family had been nearly frustrating. His disregard for Eren’s evident and blatant dislike for me was frustrating. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s just a kid. He’ll come around.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You keep saying that, Zeke, but he glares daggers at me anytime he’s around. He looks at me like… I don’t know, like I kicked his fucking puppy or something. He acts like we have some sort of personal beef. I met the kid a month ago! What the hell does he have against me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had told him how hurtful it was to me that he was so blatantly disregarding my discomfort, and, conversely, he had told me that my newfound refusal to try for anything resembling affection with anyone other than Carla was hurtful to him, seeing as how he couldn’t even see his own mother at the moment. I told him that, unlike him, at least Carla was making an effort. I told him that I had moved away from my family for him. To make this work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things had been a little tense since then. Relationships are hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zeke’s arms wrap around me from behind, smothering me in wool and pine soap. He presses a kiss atop my hair. “Well, I’m excited,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes. “Good for you,” I grumble, but its halfhearted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs softly, and I feel his breath stir my hair. “I’m excited </span>
  <em>
    <span>for you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> weirdo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I had been excited for this, at some point. Now it seems like an unscalable mountain. I groan, letting my head fall back against his chest. I look up at him, upside down. “You’re still coming to help me set up, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He places a small peck on my nose. “’Course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh, closing my eyes. “What would I do without you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans down and forward then, and kisses me, and he tastes like coffee and toothpaste. As he pulls away, he flashes me a wolfish grin. “I was just about to ask you the very same thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>An ou ut is oer ere</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” I ask, words muffled by the thumbtack held between my teeth. I pass Zeke the frame that I’ve just taken a poster out of and he takes it, following where I point to a small round table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nearly everything is in place now, posters on the walls, lamps exuding soft, warm light in place of the school’s choice blue LEDs, a painting from one of my old students sitting up on one of the bookshelves, which are chock-full of books. There’s a framed picture of Zeke and I sitting on my desk. The diffuser is already going, filling the space with light cedarwood and patchouli. I’ve arranged the students’ desks the way I like them, in a haphazard half-circle, and by the time everything is in place the classroom exudes the exact calming atmosphere that I like for my class to have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zeke is spinning around in my desk chair by the time I set the final bookend on the shelf, idly pushing off of the desk to propel himself. I roll my eyes halfheartedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Working hard, or hardly working?” I say, in a deep, mocking voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Har har,” he responds, stopping his spin. “I helped—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes widen suddenly, and he pulls his phone from his pocket, nearly frantic. “Shit,” he says, under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing I…” he frowns at something on his phone, typing frantically. “Shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Zeke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgot the oven on,” he says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The cleaners were by today, but they can’t figure out how to turn it off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you just give them a call and explain over the phone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chews at the inside of his cheek. “I think it’s better if I just go— I’ll be quick, promise.” He adds this last part hastily upon seeing the look on my face. “Besides, we’re basically done here, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I huff a sigh. “Yeah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives me a quick kiss, laughing at my widening eyes. “I’m at work!” I sputter incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins. “No one else is around.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I give him a playful shove. I’m secretly happy for this, this sense of normalcy. Things feel okay again, tension gone, arguing over. I hate arguments, even petty ones; they make everything so much worse. And especially now, in this place where Zeke seems to be my only pillar (for now), I feel like I need for us to be a united front more than anything.  He gives me another kiss, and this time I let him, because he’s here and we’re good. This is good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get going then, loser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take advantage of this time alone to do the boring stuff, filing things away, going over the schedule for the first week of school, looking over the curriculum. I frown at the list of recommended readings; they always pick the most dull, horrendous books. So many books by dead white men that could be easily substituted by the voices of… not old dead white men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh. Different schools, same boring curriculum. I would have to go talk to the Vice Principal, an old, eccentric man named Dot Pixis, about changing some things around. Especially in the case of the more… difficult students, it was always easier to give them something interesting to do, rather than forcing them into studying the same old dredge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My attention is pulled away from my musings when one of the posters that Zeke had put up comes fluttering down off the wall, thumbtacks evidently not secured enough. I sigh, standing from my seat. It’s high up, though, which is why I had Zeke put it up. I’ll have to use the chair, precarious as it might be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll the chair toward the offending poster, a solid black one with the words Let Go or Be Dragged written across it in white. Seems apt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chair is wobbly as I stand on it, definitely not a good idea. Oh well. I manage to reach the bottom two corners, but it’s the top two that will require some sort of advanced maneuvering. My balance has always been better than most, but dying by slipping off of a rolly chair before the school year has even started is really not how I’m looking to go out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need a little help there?” says a voice, and I turn halfway on my precarious chair. There’s a tall blond man standing in the doorway, smiling softly. He seems, for a moment, oddly familiar. He must be another teacher. I must have met him at the interview, or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” I say, smiling abashedly. “I could actually use a hand, thank you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I step down off of the chair, accepting the hand he offers me, feeling supremely short once we’re both standing on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuckling softly to himself, he maneuvers around me, grabbing the tack from my hand and reaching up to pin the last pesky corners down. Once he’s finished, he turns back to me, offering me a warm smile. I’ve stored the small box of thumbtacks back into my desk, and he offers a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erwin Smith,” he says, and there is a knowing little smile in his eyes. “Though my students often call me the Commander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I offer a small laugh. Must be some sort of inside joke. “Because you’re such a hard-ass?” I joke back, shaking his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face falls a little. Why does he look like that? Did I miss something? Was that supposed to be some sort of pick-up line? I blink a few times, clearing the thoughts from my mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be presumptuous. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But, before I can even be sure that I saw the face at all, his features are schooled back into perfect pleasantness. “Because I teach history,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” I say, returning the smile. “That makes sense, then.” I offer him my name in return. “I’m the new grade twelve English teacher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “We don’t get many new faces here in Paradis. I’m sure relatively everyone will know by now who you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in his words scratches something at the back of my mind, as though there is some hidden meaning to his words, some double intention to the way that he speaks that I’m not understanding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you need help with anything else?” he asks, and looks pointedly over to where I still have boxes stacked by the doorway. I blink, pulled away from thinking of his enigmatic way of speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, really. Thank you so much. My partner is just out now, but he should be back any minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin’s eyebrows raise a fraction, and I see his eyes drift over to the picture frame on my desk, and I can see the pieces fitting together in his mind. But then, he looks for a moment too long. His eyes linger on something that I cannot see. He starts to frown, and his lips part slightly, as though he is about to say something. Before he can say anything, however, a new figure looms in the doorway, hands on their hips, hair pulled back into an unkempt ponytail. Wire-frame glasses sit perched on their nose. The grin on their face borders on the maniacal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re here!” they shout, and before I have the chance to say anything more they’re barreling into the room, and assaulting me with a hug. I tense involuntarily, put off by the sudden and unprompted physical contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hange,” Erwin says, nearly warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their arms slip away from around me, face falling slightly. “Oh, yeah, right,” they say. There’s something strange and nearly sad shining in their eyes. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile stiffly, rubbing a hand up and down my arm. At least they all seem… very nice? “All good,” I say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They clear their throat. “I’m Hange. Twelfth grade bio and chem.” They stick a hand out, and I shake it. Their grip is firm and they shake my hand vigorously. “We don’t get many new faces around here,” they say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Erwin was telling me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a moment of tense, awkward silence, and I feel so bad that it almost hurts. I wish that I wasn’t such an awkward person. I wish, I wish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” I blurt suddenly, before I can stop myself. “I’m being so weird. This is just a lot, honestly I didn’t even want to move here, and I’ve been in a super funky mood lately, and I swear to god that I’m not usually this weird and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I trail away when I notice that, though they try their best to hide it, both Hange and Erwin are laughing. And, though for a moment I feel hurt, this feeling is quickly washed away by immense relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” I say, chuckling despite myself. “God, I’m such a loser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange waves me off. “Nah. Don’t worry about it. I totally get it—new town, new faces, new job. It’s a lot. No stress.” They grin. “I can promise that none of us are giant man-eating monsters. I’d like to say we’re all pretty chill here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin nods. “Indeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, not even the first day of school yet, and I’ve already managed to make myself look like a dumbass. Hange and Erwin don’t seem all that bothered, though. Maybe I can make this work. I think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange motions to the stacks of boxes piled up by the door, empty now. “Need any help getting stuff put away?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s all good, I was just telling Erwin that my part—” My phone buzzes in my pocket. “Sorry,” I say, pulling it out. “That’s probably him, I should probably get this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>12:03 pm</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Zeke]</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Got a little bit sidetracked. Be back soon. Want coffee?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look up at Hange and Erwin, both watching me expectantly. “He’s stopping for coffee, if either of you wants something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange raises a quizzical brow. “Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her </span>
  <em>
    <span>partner</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Erwin supplies, waving a vague hand. The way he says partner sounds weird. Like it pains him to say it, or something. I don’t say anything, though, because at the end of the day I don’t know these people yet. So I just nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He helped me set up. He forgot something at home, so he ran out to grab it.” I glance back down at my phone. “And now I guess he’s trying to make up for being late by bribing me with coffee.” I smile wryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange blinks at me for a moment, saying nothing. And then they seem to remember themselves, and they give a small chuckle. “Ah, yes. Right. I’m alright, thank you so much for the offer. I probably shouldn’t be legally allowed to consume any more caffeine than I already have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, turning to Erwin. “Anything for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head slightly. “I’ve never had a taste for coffee, but I thank you kindly for the offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure they have tea?” I offer. He makes a small grimace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s quite alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding once more, I send Zeke a quick text with my order.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>12:08 pm</span>
  </em>
</p><p><b>[Me]:</b> <em><span>Don’t worry about rushing— meeting some of the other teachers</span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about that,” I say, smiling apologetically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange offers me a grin, putting two thumbs up. “No worries, new recruit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin coughs, adjusting the sleeves of his cardigan. Everyone here seems to like making weird military references. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange makes more small talk, asking about my old school, my hometown, the move, and, inevitably, Zeke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fiancé?” they ask, head tilting to the side curiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boyfriend,” I say, smiling. “For now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They laugh, and Erwin seems to find something interesting on the ceiling. “How long have you two been together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few years now,” I say, leaning back against the desk. “I guess it’s become one of those inevitabilities, you know? We moved here for Zeke’s mother—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zeke?” says Hange, eyes widening behind their glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blink. “Um, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange coughs out a laugh. “Oh, sorry. Erwin and I just used to know someone named Zeke, kind of a long story…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I motion to the picture on my desk. “I’m sure it’s a different Zeke, though, right? Small world, but not that small.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not impossible, I suppose. I know that Zeke lived in Paradis for a little while. It would just be really funny if they did turn out to be the same Zeke; maybe it would even help me get more friends here. I offer the frame to Hange, slightly hoping for some sort of recognition in their eyes. And there is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes widen, and then widen more, nearly bigger than the frames of their glasses. They say nothing for a moment, and in my peripheral I see Erwin watching them intently. Their hand starts to shake. “Erwin,” they breathe. Their grip tightens on the frame. “It’s him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My brows furrow. This isn’t exactly the reaction I had hoped for. “So you do know him?” My voice is small, and I cannot erase what little bit of hopefulness is there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They put the frame down on the desk somewhat heavily. “You’re dating Zeke Jaeger,” they say, nearly breathless. Erwin tenses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I open my mouth to respond, to ask why they sound so horrified, to ask why Erwin has become a motionless pillar, to defend Zeke from anything they might have to say. I don’t get the chance to say anything, however, because there is someone else in the doorway now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Erwin,” says the man standing in the doorway, and time seems to stop for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because I know him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an immediate and shocking knowledge, the kind that pierces through my skin and sinks deep into my bones. I know him. I know the dark hair, and the slate-grey eyes. I know the pallor of his skin, and the displeased downturn of his mouth, and the shape of his body…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I don’t. I don’t know him at all. I loose a breath through my nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is watching me, just as I am watching him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, there is nothing but this: this strange thing that hangs in the air between us, and it feels like déjà-vue on steroids. This isn’t the kind of thing where it feels as though I’ve been here before; this is a kind of knowing that goes beyond that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment is broken as Erwin clears his throat, and the strange newcomer looks away from me, his eyes filled with something sharp. “Pixis needed to speak with you about something,” he says, and his voice strikes something in my mind. The answer feels as though it’s on the tip of my tongue, but the problem is that I don’t even know the question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a moment of silence, where no one says anything else, and it feels very much as though we’re in some sort of stand-off, one that doesn’t seem to have any concrete end. Hange is still clutching the photo frame in deathlike grip, looking very much as though they want to say something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, sure. Thank you, Levi.” The tall blond man looks over to me, and back to the short man, and back to me. “This is Levi Ackerman,” he supplies, rubbing at the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi nods curtly, looking stiff in a dark blazer and jeans, though he makes no moves to come in or to shake my hand. “I teach law,” is all he says instead. “You’re the new English teacher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has an odd way of speaking, abrupt and to the point, on the verge of being nearly rude. But there’s some degree of manner there, still. Maybe he’s just bad at introductions. I take in the dark look in his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe he’s just a prickly guy.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Levi,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. He nods once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Likewise,” he says, and then lets his eyes slide away from me, something like pain written in them. As though it is painful to be looking at me. I can’t help the part of me that’s taken aback; the same part of me that felt some sort of knowing about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three things happen, then, all in quick succession, as though the universe has set up pins in a perfect line, and bowled them all over in one go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first is that Zeke suddenly walks in, or, more accurately, comes to stand behind Levi in the doorway. His eyes meet Erwin’s over-top of Levi’s head, and widen in surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second is that Levi turns, because now Erwin is also staring at Zeke, and his brows are pushing together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third and final thing that happens is that, before anyone can say anything more, Levi has Zeke by the collar, and is pushing his backward into the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” His voice is guttural and low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zeke drops the coffee he’s holding, grunting as his back hits the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” I’m yelling before the words can register, and running out to do something, to drag Levi off, to get between them. They say that, in a fight, the most important thing is to break eye contact between both parties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel a hand on my shoulder, and turn to see Erwin, a burning look in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Levi!” he all but shouts, his voice much calmer and composed than mine. “Enough. You’re a professional; act like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Levi shoves away from the taller man, his jaw clenched. Zeke straightens his sweater, looking at the mess of coffee now spattered down the hall. He grimaces. “Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Levi</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s good to see that you haven’t changed. At all.” And then he’s turning back around, and, instead of looking angry, he is smiling. “That was assault, </span>
  <em>
    <span>old friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch Levi clench and unclench his fists. It looks as though he is trying to stop himself from doing something that he’ll regret. This is the person I thought I knew?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn to Hange, hoping for some sort of explanation, for some sort of anything. Because I cannot fathom a world in which anyone hates Zeke this much. They do know him, I understand now. It’s just not in the way I had hoped. Not in the way I had hoped at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Levi,” Erwin says again, this time his voice is warning. “Go take a walk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment the shorter man says nothing, glaring at Zeke. And then he nods curtly, sparing one last glance over his shoulder. He’s looking at Hange, but, for a moment, his eyes slip over to me. And then he’s turned back around, and stalking off silently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t realize that I’m shaking until Zeke comes over to me, wrapping his arms around me. “Sorry I’m late,” he murmurs. I just nod. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell is going on here?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s best if you leave now, Zeke Jaeger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin and Hange are both watching us, the latter with something indiscernible in their eyes. Erwin’s eyes are impenetrably blue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell is going on here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nice to meet you, finally,” he says tightly to me. “But I think it might be best to let this cool down a little, hm? We’ll take care of the mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. “Sure,” I say.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell is going on?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s best if you don’t work there,” Zeke says, his jaw clenched as he drives, eyes staring straight ahead. “I knew you working there was a bad idea. I knew it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive home has been silent, letting the events that had just transpired hang in the air between us. Zeke had given me the short of it, that he had known these people before, when he had been in Paradis for a little while. Evidently something had gone down. He said he didn’t want to press charges, because the situation was complicated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zeke…” I say, but he isn’t listening to me right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That guy is fucking dangerous. I don’t know why they hired someone like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zeke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know why I let Carla talk me into getting you a job, I don’t know why I ever thought you would be okay working there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Zeke</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this he turns toward me, and, although he is stiff and upset, his eyes are filled with nothing but worry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look. I appreciate your input, because we’re in a relationship and I love you, and I will certainly take that into account, but at the end of the day, I’m an adult. I can figure this one out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that was… horrifying. I don’t know what the hell happened between you two, and you can definitely tell me some other time. But… I need this,” I say. “Because I don’t know this place, and I don’t know these people, and I just… I need to build myself a new life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says nothing for a moment, and then he breathes out: “I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans, rubbing a hand through his beard. “I just don’t want you involved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it’s my turn to say, “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs humorlessly. “Just… promise me you’ll stay away from Levi Ackerman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoots me a glance and I grin, shooting two finger-guns at him. He reaches out his right hand. I take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the car ride is in silence, but it’s the easy kind, and by the time we’ve arrived at home, I’m ready to fall asleep. My attention perks, however, because there is a car waiting in the driveway. A familiar one, at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zeke pulls into the driveway and turns the car off, and before I can say anything about the grey sedan parked up near the house he turns to me, grinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So about why I was late earlier…” he says and trails off, watching my eyes light up with recognition. My face slowly breaks into a grin of its own, mirroring Zeke’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait— You didn’t actually forget the oven on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile widens. “Your brother’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I unbuckle my seatbelt, leaning over the console. “I knew that story was suspicious.” I press a quick kiss to his mouth. “You fiend.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’ve been having a bit of a rough time, and I know that this move hasn’t been easy on you. So I gave your brother a call, and…” he waves his hand toward the grey car. “Ta-dah. He wanted to surprise you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, and it is a real and genuine laugh, and it feels so good after all of these months of doubting. I kiss him again, this time longer, and lean my forehead against his. “Thank you. Really, Zeke, thank you. I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes gleam roguishly. “I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay like that for a moment, watching each other, my heart swelling in my chest. I am so grateful for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment ends when he reaches past me to open the door, giving me a small, playful shove. “Go see him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, throwing up my hands. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” I pause, halfway out the door. “I love you,” I say again, because it warrants being said twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My older brother is facing away from me when I walk up, doing something on his phone, so he can’t see me. It feels like a lifetime since I’ve seen him, though it’s only been a few months. A few months too many, to be sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I jump up when I reach him, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. He startles only for a moment, and then relaxes, chuckling softly. He turns to face me, sad eyes familiar, but not the beard he’s started to grow. He sweeps me up into a bear hug, and he smells like the same laundry detergent we’ve used our entire lives. He smells like home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, kid,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You drove here all the way from Marley? You crazy bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles. “What,” he says. “A guy can’t drive forty-eight hours, hop on a ferry for another four, and then drive another six to come see his sister anymore? Sheesh, can’t do shit around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I give him a light-hearted punch to the shoulder. “You put your car on a fucking boat? What is wrong with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No flights to Paradis until next week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, burying my face into his maroon sweater, closing my eyes so tightly that I can almost pretend there are no tears there. My brother pats my head. I squeeze him tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you, Reiner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you too.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>a disclaimer here, i've messed around with the ages a bit, so that they fit more in reference to each other with the plot. does that make a whole lotta sense? prolly not. do i care? prolly not. time to suspend that disbelief gamers😏</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Begin Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Current Mood: crying about Reiner</p><p>ANYWAYS here is chapter 4. Now we gettin into it</p><p>YUH YUH GET INTO IT</p><p>um.... yeah. I'm severely sleep deprived at this point in time so.... this is a bit of a filler chap, but some important moments nevertheless,,, if u saw me post and then take this down.:.. NO U DIDNT OKAY<br/>enjoy this and lmk what you think! 😎‼</p><p>love n shit<br/>moody</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There is a young girl in Trost District who wants to join the Scouts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She is small still, small enough to have dreams and to hold onto them. Small enough to hope. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It should come as no surprise, then, that when she sees the ranks returning, when she watches that sea of green and brown and black bobbing and cresting like little waves, she wants to be a part of it. She wants to go outside the walls. She wants to see the sea. The real sea. She has only heard of it in stories.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was young, then. She is older, now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart pounds in her chest as she stands in rigid salute, trying her very hardest not to let her eyes stray from directly ahead of her, to not follow the man who is shouting things, spittle flying with his roaring words. When he finally comes around to face her, she is not sure whether the blood that rises to her head is from fear or excitement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“WHAT’S YOUR NAME, RUNT?” bellows the man, standing tall and looking down. His eyes are dark, sunken into his worn skin, which is brown and baked by the sun like leather. This is a man who has seen the outside world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her teeth bare as she answers him, like a smile or a snarl, and in that moment she feels very much like an animal. Maybe that’s the point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“WHY ARE YOU HERE?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sets her jaw, stands just a bit taller. “I want to fight for humanity, sir!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His brows raise. It is an expected answer. It’s nothing new. It’s nothing special. “Why?” he shouts. She does not flinch. A glob of spit hits her cheek. She resists the urge to wipe it off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” she says, and there is something strange in her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something knowing.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>“How much did you say? Two cups?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Two teaspoons, Reiner. Jesus, have you never baked before?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He raises both hands in surrender, face the portrait of mock affront as he reaches for the measuring spoons. “Sorry I’m not the master of knowing all vanilla extract measurements.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes, whisking together the dry ingredients. “I’m scared to know what recipes you’ve been making that call for two cups of vanilla extract.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never really tried baking without Pieck or Marcel,” he mutters. He pours out the measurements carefully, and it’s almost comical to see the tiny spoons in his massive hands. I feel like he’s gotten bigger since I left. Since when was my brother so fucking huge?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” I say, donning a critical eye as he cracks in the two eggs. “Everyone should at least know how to make chocolate chip cookies by the age of twenty-five.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groans, making a face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” I say, innocently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t remind me. Getting old is bad enough without my kid sister pestering me about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes, reaching down into the bowl to collect some flour onto my fingertips, flicking it at him. He ducks, but it’s flour, and it rains down on him anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not old, dipshit. And I’m only three years younger than you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grimaces, halfheartedly dusting at his shoulders. This year is the first year I’ve ever missed Reiner’s birthday; usually we have a big family dinner, where everyone gets too drunk and we always eat way too much seafood casserole, Reiner’s favourite. My chest starts aching all of a sudden, because I miss all of our friends, and having friends. There’s this weird sort of longing, too, one that I can’t put any faces to, that wants for something I no longer have.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> But I push it down, hold a hand out for the bowl of wet ingredients. “How was your birthday, anyway? Pieck said you guys went out to The Roadhouse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Reiner says, sliding the metal bowl over to me. I set to carefully folding its contents into the well of dry, resisting the urge to laugh at my brother’s perfectly perplexed expression. He drums his fingers along the counter. “It was me, Pieck, Bertholdt, Annie, Marcel, ‘n Pock.” He shakes his head. “Drank way too fucking much though. Couldn’t get out of bed at all the next day.  Can’t handle my alcohol the same way anymore, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I smile. “I take it back. I guess you are old.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sticks out his tongue. “Fuck you,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes once more, laughing softly, and he continues to sulk, feigned or not. “How are they?” I ask instead, steering clear of further pushing on conversations of his age, and this time when he smiles, it is genuine, soft. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone’s good,” he says. “They miss you. We all do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I nod to that, not trusting anything that might come out of my mouth. I miss them too, I want to say. I want to come home. But it is a stern voice that reminds me, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me violently, that I am home now. Paradis is my home. And it feels right, in the same breath that it doesn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once I’m finished mixing the ingredients, I hand him back the bowl, and he takes it over to the sink to wash it. I smile softly to myself. This reminds me of us being kids, baking with our mom. The only difference is that back then, I hated Reiner, because he was such a little shit. We’re much closer now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” he says, leaning back against the counter, watching as I painstakingly scoop dough onto the baking tray. “Zeke was telling me you were setting up your classroom yesterday?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I take a moment to answer him, partially because I’m putting the cookies in the oven, partially because I don’t know how much Zeke has told him. For some reason, I’m hoping that Zeke didn’t say anything about Levi. For some reason, I don’t want my brother to have a bad impression of the man who literally attacked my boyfriend. I hum noncommittally, and give him a tight smile when I turn back around. I toss the oven mitts onto the counter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” I say. “Pretty exciting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You must be pretty pumped.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I narrow my eyes, knowing Reiner well enough to know that there’s something that he’s getting at. There’s something that he wants to say. But I just shrug. “I’m hoping for a good year.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reiner has always been melancholic. Our mother, when we were younger, used to say that he just had the predisposition of a man come home from war; someone who had seen too many things, someone who knew too many things. And it was a joke, of course, because we had never seen anything of the sort. But I always felt, somewhere in my mind, that it was kind of true, as well. He was happy, of course he was happy. But he was also always worried. About me. About his friends. About our family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he’s worrying me, now. The tone of his voice. The look in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard.” He clears his throat. “I heard you, uh, met Levi Ackerman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he did tell him. I fight the urge to wince. “Yeah. You know him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reiner doesn’t say anything for a moment, eyes glancing around the kitchen as though someone might be listening. He chews at his thumbnail, and when he looks back at me, his eyes are wide. “Look, ah, shit. Look, I have to tell you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m home!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reiner’s mouth clamps shut so quickly that I might almost find it comical. Instead I’m frowning, because he was going to tell me something. Something important, I think, and something that requires Zeke’s absence. I give him a look that tells him that the conversation isn’t over, and his eyes widen and fill with some unknowable thing. And then he blinks and it’s gone. He nods. To me, to himself. I squint, wishing, not for the first time, that I could read his mind. Oh, how much simpler things would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel Zeke’s arms around me before I can turn, his face burying in my hair. “Good day?” he asks, breath ruffling at the nape of my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m about to tell him that the day really isn’t over yet, but one glance at the clock on the stove tells me that it’s after five. Damn. Time really got away from me. I look up, ready to make a joke to Reiner, but find it dying in my throat; my brother has taken off, somewhere. Disappeared. I swallow, licking my lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good day,” I say.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m laughing at something that Zeke said, and so is Reiner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My mind is clouded by wine, a 2015 Riesling, sweet on my tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You cannot be serious,” says Reiner, breathing heavy. He can barely get the words out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke nods, laughing too. “I swear to god, I’m telling the truth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I smile, watching them. Zeke and my brother have always gotten along famously, which is nice. They’re around the same age, which had made introducing them slightly strange, but after the initial </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I’m the brother, who the hell are you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ they had been near best friends. It had even turned out that they’d gone to the same university, though they hadn’t known each other at the time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But sometimes, it seems like they’d known each other a lot longer than the few years that Zeke and I have been together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the events from earlier today, tonight has been a blessing. I made an impromptu seafood casserole for dinner, which was nice for Zeke and I as well. Seafood is less commonplace here than back in Marley. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Zeke got home, things had settled in to our usual routine, wine, dinner, laughing. Zeke had tried to steal a cookie fresh from the oven, and I had batted him away, because they were for after dinner. An experiment, for when I would make them for my class in September. Only a week away, now. I think about Levi again, because it feels as though he is irreplaceable in my mind. Something is wrong with me. I can’t stop thinking about him, and Reiner and I’s conversation from earlier…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I take another long sip of wine. Something is definitively wrong with me. I swallow. Really, really wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So I’m running, right, because of course I’m fucking running, and I’m just starting to think that I’m getting safe when this asshole fucking slams the ball into my back!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke is telling baseball stories, which he only does when he’s drinking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And then the guy has the audacity to say, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>you thought you could get away from me?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The fuck is that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reiner shakes his head. “Sounds like a piece of work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I was a pitcher. Can’t stand shit like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I chew absentmindedly on a thumb nail. “Nothing to do with your mean arm, or anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke laughs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, I hear that your brother is quite the tough guy,” Reiner says, sitting back in the chair that he dwarfs. “My sister was telling me that he plays for the high school football team? What were they called?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke drinks before answering. His eyes slide over to me for just a moment, before sliding away just as quickly. “The Titans. The Paradis Titans.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My brother starts coughing violently, putting his wine glass down, pounding at his chest. “Sorry,” he says between coughs. “Inhaled. Wine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When his fit is over, he looks at Zeke incredulously. “Why the hell did they name it that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke sighs through his nose. “Apparently the new VP changed it the year before last. What was his name, love?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pixis,” I say, confused by Reiner’s reaction. I give a small smile. “Is there something I’m missing? What’s wrong with the name?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Zeke takes a long drink. He waves the question off, as if it’s no big deal at all, all of a sudden. “Inside joke,” he says. “It was from our university.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reiner nods, making a noise of assent. He won’t meet my eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t seem all that much like a joke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I sigh, but don’t press, mostly because it’s frustrating and I’m not looking for a fight. It’s not that I don’t understand that there are certain things that don’t spill over to sisters or girlfriends. It’s that sometimes, my life feels like one great big game of keep-away. As though everyone is trying their best to stop me from knowing something. I sit back in my chair, trying not to look too dejected, finishing off the last of my white. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The evening stretches on, and though I let Zeke and Reiner do most of the talking from there, I slip in every so often to ask about things back home in Liberio, about mom and dad and Gabi. It hasn’t been that long, I tell myself. But it feels like a lifetime. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mom and dad are great,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Reiner says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But they miss you. And so does Gabi. She’s got it in her mind now that she’s going to get into high school early, and finish early, and then get into the university here.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He laughs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kid misses you. We all miss you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he says, for the second time today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I give him a tight smile at that, and don’t really press him for more. My chest tightens. I listen as they talk without me, about university things and Reiner’s work things, how the firefighting is going. It’s nice, I tell myself, that he’s here. I’m really glad that Zeke invited him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I try not to let myself dwell on the disappointment of not being involved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once things are put away, it’s nearly ten o’clock, and Reiner announces that he’s going to bed. I’m exhausted too, so I don’t disagree with the sentiment. I know Zeke is going to stay up longer, but he always does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I collapse onto the duvet, arms falling on either side of my head. The events of the day are weighing heavily on my soul. Too heavily, if I’m being completely honest with myself. I feel the urge to dissect, to compartmentalize and rationalize and rectify. But I can’t. It’s the knowing that I felt, it’s the horror at seeing Zeke pushed against the wall, it’s the odd way that I truly cannot bring myself to be afraid of Levi. Because every time I think of him, every time I close my eyes, there is something warm there. Something fond. And no matter how hard I try, no matter the guilt that gnaws away at me, I cannot shake it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever it is, it has its claws well hooked in me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> After a moment, I feel the solid weight of another person joining me. Zeke reaches down to grab my hand, and brings it up to his face, brushing a kiss against my knuckles. I close my eyes. This is good. I love Zeke. I love Zeke.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love Zeke. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d tell me if there was something serious going on, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel him still at my words. And then, as though it never happened, he rolls over to face me, keeping our hands intertwined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he says, and I believe him. “I would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I believe him. I do. I do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So there’s nothing going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wish my voice didn’t sound like that. I wish that I could go back to this morning, when things were just starting to be good again—no. I wish we could go back to Marley, where things were normal. There was no weirdness. There wasn’t this odd feeling that Zeke was playing keep-away from me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there is this ache in my chest, the kind that comes from longing, for what I do not know. But it was the kind of ache that had me finishing off my glass of Riesling with a heady fervor, and pouring myself another one, even as Reiner and Zeke waxed on about work and home and precocious kids. I couldn’t focus on what they were saying, though. So I just poured myself another glass of wine. Another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now I’m laying here, wine-drunk, and crying without even knowing that I’m crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” says Zeke, hands ghosting against the skin of my cheek. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t even know what to say. I feel so weird. And I wouldn’t even know where to begin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing,” I hiccup, smiling up at him. “I just had too much to drink, I’m fine. It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. “Really,” I say. “It’s nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you and Reiner talking about, earlier? He didn’t say anything to upset you, did he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe if I was sober, I would register the weird tone in his voice. Maybe I would question the question. But I’m not and I don’t. I shake my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. It’s not that… I just… I don’t know.” I give him another feeble smile. “I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His arms wrap around me, comforting, cage-like. Familiar. But my mind won’t stop straying to dark hair and grey eyes. I’ll ask him in the morning, I resolve. Tonight, I will allow myself to fade into this familiarity. Tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing going on,” Zeke murmurs, when sleep has started to gnaw away at my consciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I’m not so sure that I believe him. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>She is shaking, when she mounts up for her first expedition outside the walls. But she smiles anyways, because if she doesn’t, she fears she might lose any and all of her nerve. She keeps her eyes trained on the back of Nanaba’s head, watches the steady rise and fall of the older woman’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one on her squad says anything. There is no joking, no camaraderie, none of the lightheartedness that she has come to know with them. This is all gravity, and she feels every solemn inch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no understanding the horror of the titans until you see them up close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels very naive, when she first sees one, because she is one of the few new ones. She doesn’t end up killing any, but Miche says that that’s a good thing. She didn’t get any kills, sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at least she survived, and that’s more than can be said for a lot of the other new recruits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nanaba finds her in the stables, once the buzz of returning home has all but died, and she is brushing flecks of mud from her horse’s hocks when the older woman speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did good out there, today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know what to say. So she says: “Eward died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nanaba says nothing. She knows that it’s most likely shock, because coming home from your first expedition is always horrible and painful. There will be nightmares for weeks. But Nanaba also knows that there is nothing that she can do. The only thing to do is grin and bear it. And hope that you’ll live to see another expedition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eward was a good soldier. Quick thinking, strong, precise. But that was never, and would never be the problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could have saved him, if I had tried killing that titan—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nanaba holds up a hand. “Stop,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a moment of silence that passes between them. Of understanding.  Nanaba sighs, because she’s never been all that good with words. “You did good out there today,” she says again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the younger girl nods, and goes back to silently brushing the mud from her horse’s legs. This is not her first taste of horror, of heartbreak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It will not be her last.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tag yourself I'm Pixis naming the school's teams after the titans just to start shit</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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